


Of Vampires and Men

by av_anders



Series: Of Men & Vampires [1]
Category: Castlevania (Cartoon)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:35:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23694001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/av_anders/pseuds/av_anders
Summary: The continuation of Runaway, and Book Two of Of Men and Vampires
Series: Of Men & Vampires [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/798423
Comments: 4
Kudos: 23





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

(Y/N)’s recovery was a slow process. It had taken days to be able to stay awake for more than an hour or two, and once she had managed to sleep herself out, she wished she could go back to it. At least in her sleep, her skin didn’t feel over tight and stretched wrong. Her body ached and the stitches itched. At least when she had been resting, she had been able to escape it for a time. At a small village, Grant had managed to find distilled witch hazel, which helped a bit with the itching, but never for quite long enough. Her shoulder and arm refused to respond hows she wanted. Weak and at times completely numb as if it had fallen asleep. The most she could do after weeks of concentration was to wiggle her own fingers of her own volition, and weeks longer to make it not look like a spasm. She might not ever hold a bow again, or sword. It was quite possible that she may not regain enough control and strength to do much of anything. That was the first time she wondered if it wouldn’t have been better if she had died.

Weeks turned into months. Still, the Speakers welcomed them. Some took lessons from her brother in the finer aspects of medical care, leaving her either alone or as a patient to be poked and prodded for the benefit of education. She could no longer tell which was better, the constant poking at her while speaking about her as if she wasn’t there, or the loneliness that allowed despair to nag at her thoughts, plaguing her confidence, and crushing what little hope she had left. He wasn’t coming. Had he died? Was his corpse rotting in some ditch, or did the townsfolk find him and execute him, displaying his body for all to see. The Belmont that didn't escape.

Or, in some noble sacrifice did he avoid her, in some poor misguided attempt to protect her. If they followed him, she would be safe. She had hoped that was what it was. But more and more the despair poked and clawed at the edges of that theory. Just as likely that he knew she would slow him down. She was just a sad little cripple now. Yes, much better if she had died, it would have been cleaner. Then he would not have to worry about the sad shadow she was now. Look at her mangled flesh that he had only gotten a moment to enjoy when it was whole. She could see no joy in touching her now. Not without the look of sadness in his eyes as he remembered her as she once was. Whole and vibrant and not some sad broken little thing.

Six months came and went. She was finally walking on her own with only the slightest limp. It was enough to allow her some privacy and independence. It was another month before she could mount a horse on her own, even then it was with a block. However, once in a saddle she was formidable. Few could outride her. And with that small shiny shred of hope, she started to rebuild. 

It was slow, much slower than she had ever imagined. Grant had tried to warn her that it would be more difficult than she was anticipating. But she was stubborn. She’d take a step forward and then two steps back. She’d grow frustrated and pushed herself into achieving a goal only for her to overexert herself and have to stop and recover for a week, sometimes longer.

And all the while (Y/N) was witnessing something just short of a miracle. Her forever bachelor brother was falling in love. She had no misconceptions about what her brother was. Nor did it change how she felt about him. However, in the eyes of the church, her brother was committing one of the most grievous of sins, and what made it all the sweeter, his affections seemed to be returned. As far as the Speakers were concerned, love was love, and so, for the first time ever, (Y/N) was able to watch her always confident, always self-assured brother fumble over his words, and become a blushing mess over a smile and warm brown eyes. She had to admit, Grant had good taste. The man was about the same height but a bit broader in build than her sibling. If nothing else came of all this, she could find comfort knowing that for once, Grant would be allowed this. If it had been asked of him, and it would have, he would have married and continued their line. Duty always comes before personal pleasures. Now, there would be no obligations for him to do the “right thing.” It hurt to think that it took all of this to allow her brother a small piece of happiness.

Which, of course, reminded her that she was married, and either widowed or abandoned. The loneliness came back sharper and more bitter. She tried pushing those feelings back, she would not deny Grant this feeling, nor would she make him feel guilty for it. A glance in her direction, she could tell he already felt terrible about it, and she had already failed him. No, he would have his happiness. And she would find out what happened to her husband soon enough. And if Trevor wasn’t dead, he would wish he was when she was done with him. She just had to heal a little more, heal and prepare.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Healing took nearly the whole of a year, and while she could not use a bow or sword, she had been able to regain enough control and flexibility to use her daggers. It meant that she would have to be more careful. She wasn’t as graceful as she had been, and she still lacked some of her former strength and agility. She would have to pick her battles carefully. Her only true advantage was her horse, the final gift from Gilen, and he had been generous. Her horse was fast and well adapted at running through fields and forests alike. As long as she could point him in the right direction, she could trust that he would pick his path carefully, saving both their necks.

She had been planning and preparing for months, sorting out provisions a bit at a time, and figuring out how to pull off her escape. She had gained the habit of taking moonlit strolls on horseback to ease her anxiety and to find peace when sleep evaded her. No one would question her leaving the camp. Grant was out. There would be no one to question her. The weather was fair, for now, and would hold long enough for her to get away far enough no one would be able to track her.

With a short note to her brother, she grabbed the bits that she had been able to put together and as soon as she knew she was safe to head out she opened the door.

Speaker camps were quiet at night, but still, there were people up and about finishing chores, and standing watch. That had become a more common practice after the werewolf attack, that seemed ages ago. If that had been the start of it, the village attack solidified it. (Y/N) nodded to a woman that was prepping food for the next morning and waved to the man sitting on the roof of another wagon intently watching the tree line for any threat. She paused for a moment, she could hear the chirping of crickets, and the scurry of small woodland creatures trying to find food and cover from those that would make them food. With the forest alive she knew that there was no threat of danger. In their travels, they had made a loop, following the mountains to a stream that brought them to more mountains. It may have felt random, but Speakers tried to follow a routine. She did not recognize any of the areas, but she knew that she could not be more than a few days outside the village. She had overheard talk she was not meant to hear between Grant, his lover, and the Elder. They had argued if it would be a better idea to detour around the village. She had managed a few stolen glimpses to know that if they were indeed coming toward the village, it would be from the south. 

She grabbed the tack and started saddling her horse, making sure to seem as nothing was wrong. Just another late evening ride. The guards would switch, hopefully before anyone thought of how long she had been out. If she was lucky she wouldn’t really be noticed until dawn, and then between her letter and how much of a head start she had, she wouldn’t need to worry about them catching up.

She waved once more after she had mounted. Everyone had seemed to have grown accustomed to these little excursions, and no one was paying her much attention. She kept her pace casual until she could no longer see the small glow of the fires, and no longer smell their smoke before she picked up her pace. She wondered if the village may be closer than a few days away. She was now on horseback on her own, and the Seekers always seemed to take the slowest path. Based on their normal speed, 3 days with them could equal closer to a full day's ride for her. She would have to be vigilant traveling in the dark, but she had no reason to get off the road and the horse would pick its path more carefully than she would ever be able.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter three

The village had been even closer than she had thought, as she came upon it early in the evening the next day. Or at least, what was left of it. It had been nearly a year, yet it looked as though little to no repairs had been done. The Cathedral stood on the edge of the town, the once ornately carved wooden doors were hanging at odd angles to the doorway, the roof still missing on one side. No glass remained in the building. Bits of stone from a crumbled wall still littered the ground, and no grass grew on the property. 

The village looked as if the attack had been only a day or two behind them, one in every three homes still laid in a heap of rubble. The blacksmith’s cottage stood, but the door and roof were gone, and the stone still stained with soot. There were no sounds of a blacksmith anywhere else, no voices bartering, or hawking wares. The village green was void of any plants and life. There were no chickens scratching and pecking, looking for food between the blades of grass. 

More depressing than the surroundings were the people. So much seemed wrong. It had been a vibrant little community, children running around, while the women talked as they beat the winter carpets out. The streets had never been full, but certainly, there had been more out and about than there were now. Everyone wore various shades of black and grey, poorly patched and on some little more than rags. The ones that she saw anyway. There were no children running around, no dogs barking. No one even looked up at her as she passed. They all seemed busy staring at the ground before their feet, which did little more than a shuffle. They were a people defeated. 

Part of her thought that it served them right, that their misery was hard-earned. The Belmonts had always made sure to take care of their people. And now that they had bit the hand that had fed them, no one appeared to give the lot of them two shits. She could hear Reinhart’s voice, that low steady level headed voice that would have explained to his sons even while bandaging the bite marks, that they were his people. He would have, and did, from her understanding, fought for them until he drew his last breath. However much she tried to think of them as such, the words felt hollow. Reinhart was a better man than she was, and she wasn’t sure what help she was actually capable of giving. 

She kept her pace placid, not wanting to draw attention to herself, less someone recognized her under her hood. She wasn’t sure what reaction that would cause. She was fairly certain it wouldn’t end well. They could turn on her as fast as they did the Bellmonts. She worked her way past the village and to the side road that went towards the manor. Trevor had been on his way to catch up with his mother at the cave. She paused for a moment beyond the gates. This was the last place she had seen him, slipping in and out of consciousness as he carried her to the wagons. Somewhere between here and the caves would be her answer, or so she hoped. 

The manor had seen better days. Its scorched skeletal ruins picked clean by the vultures. She could still hear the sounds of metal crashing, smell the smoke in the air, the heat of the flames as they engulfed the house. Here and there, bits of glass crunched under the hooves of her horse. Nothing stirred. She tried not to look at the house, tried to block the memories that flooded her mind. Her and Trevor playing as children overlapping with Julius’ dead eyes staring up at her. He nudged her horse to move faster, willed her mind to still and her emotions to calm. All she managed to do was get the horse to canter a bit quicker, still picking its way carefully. 

She found the path that led past the gates and towards the pools. She planned to fill her water skins there and rest for the night. She had been a fairly good tracker at one time. But more than a year had passed, and she was out of practice. She could not risk missing something, anything, just because she rushed out into the night. 


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Stopping at the pools had been a mistake. This was her last happy memory, and the remnants still laid about. Their bedding they had laid on what was supposed to have been the night before her wedding, the candles, everything was still there, but weathered and moldy. They had been cuddling, sleeping when they woke to the smell of smoke. They had left everything, only blowing out the candles. Amazingly they still lit, but the blankets were ruined. She could almost hear his laughter. They had been so happy that night. And all of it torn away in an instant. How could one memory be tied to so many conflicting emotions? Joy so sweet and sorrow so deep. She hardly noticed the tears until they dripped down on her clenched fists in his lap. Fists so tight that her nails drew blood. She hardly noticed that until she saw the blood, quickly scrubbing her hands in the cold pool before doing the same to her face. 

Now was not the time to let emotions get the better of her. She needed to rest, the mountains trails were a maze at the best of times, and now, new growth would threaten to erase a trail hardly traveled when it was used. She would be leading her horse on foot almost as much as she would be in the saddle, perhaps more so. And Walking still took a lot out of her. Better that she get as much rest as she could, there were few spots to make easy camp on the way, this would be her last chance until the caves where she could be comfortable. 

Yet, how comfortable could she be here? She feared what dreams would come, hope mixed with false hope. Here there were so many memories, all involving Trevor. She prayed that he was alright, for his sake. Because If, no, WHEN she found him she was going to beat him from whatever sorry inn she found him in, and if there was a wench bouncing on his knee when she got thereafter she had laid in bed waiting for him night after night… he would regret ever laying eyes on her in the first place. 

And with her resolve firmly back in place, tempered with forced rage she made camp.

Surprisingly, no dreams came. However, the sun was high above the mountains when she woke. Near mid-morning. It surprised her how well she had slept, perhaps the fresh air, or the exertion of her escape, either way, she felt better. She broke camp, nibbling on some cheese as she rode the first part, the main trail would still be in good shape. It ran along the far side of the pools, and between some foothills. She could have almost done this part in her sleep. All the way to the valley and then follow along the short side of the quarry. As she cleared the last of the trees, feeling more like herself than she had in a long while, she decided to test hers and her horse’s limits. Gilen breed horses for endurance and speed, and it as long past time to give it a chance to live up to its breeding. She dipped lower to the neck stretching out more and balancing out her weight. Her back only twinged once or twice, uncomfortable but no real pain. With a little pressure, the horse shot forward. 

Lord, how she missed this feeling, so much that she surprised herself with a laugh. It startled her for a moment, and then the exhilaration took over once again, and she let herself enjoy this moment. 

It didn’t last as long as she’d have liked, but she slowly drew in when she spotted the quarry. She had figured that this would have taken her much more of the day, and whatever time she had lost sleeping in, she had more than made up for it. Granted they had never raced up the path, preferring to laugh and talk on the way, enjoying each other's company. She had also estimated their time based on starting at the manor. Perhaps she had imagined that it should have taken longer. Either way, she could easily make it into the foothills at a comfortable pass for her horse. That's when it would get the most difficult, but if she managed to get that far, the caves would be less than a day's walk to the caves. 

Lost in her own thoughts the sun had started to set sooner than she realized. She cursed herself twice the fool. Once for getting distracted, she could have gotten off the path, and gotten lost. And second, because she had reached well into the foothills on the rocky stone riddled ground, out in the wide-open territory. She had planned to set up at the edge of a small valley they had used before that had a few trees for cover and a small spring. This time of year it should have had a few berry patches, that would have helped extend her limited food supply. That was probably an hour behind her, and with darkness coming on quickly as the sun disappeared behind the mountains she would be lucky to find it at all. No, she would have to set up camp where she was now and hope that she could find a spot to curl up without too many rocks and that her horse would walk her if there was any trouble. 

She less than gracefully hopped down and that was when she realized her second mistake as her legs ached. It had been a long time since she had done any real riding, and even longer still that she ever remembered being saddle sore. Part of being with the Belmonts meant riding, training on horseback, riding in patrols, not to mention all Trevor’s and her trips, galavanting for the fun of it. She had probably spent a third of her life with them in a saddle. So much so that the thought of a carriage seemed silly. Perhaps not now. No, if she could have a carriage ride the rest of the way, with comfortable padded cushions, that would be heaven. As well ask the lord cobblestone the path to the caves for all the good wishing and praying would do her. 

It took a bit of effort to find a spot to sit, leaning against a large rock. She held her horse’s reins. If anything spooked it, she would be jolted awake.

But nothing came stirring in the night. No dreams came. Instead, she was woken by distant thunder. She maybe had four or five hours before the storm overtook her, and storms out her were not something for a lone person to take on. She had better move quickly. Still, something tugged at her perception, a twitch between her shoulder blades. She tried to ignore it. With a storm coming she didn’t have time to worry about paranoia too. Still, that feeling was there as she mounted, looking out ahead of her to see what signs she could. There in the rock face 30 feet from her, three white lines on a dark rock. She had always teased Trevor for marking the path with such obvious signs. They were trying to hide a stash, not advertise it to ever stray that walked past. Now she wished she could have kissed him. If the markers were visible then she wasn’t as worried about losing her way. 

She could feel the moisture in the wind. She would need to move.


End file.
